


fighting for my life (i couldn't breathe again)

by hellstrider



Series: Thousand Miles Verse [8]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Gentle Sex, Idiots in Love, M/M, Reunion Sex, Scenting, Soft sex, Vampire!Jaskier, lord above, slight blood kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:46:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22881217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellstrider/pseuds/hellstrider
Summary: Jaskier smells his Witcher before he really realizes he's awake.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Thousand Miles Verse [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587544
Comments: 23
Kudos: 656





	fighting for my life (i couldn't breathe again)

**Author's Note:**

> more thousand miles!!!
> 
> title from after hours by the weeknd
> 
> tumblr: thebardjaskier

Jaskier smells his Witcher before he really realizes he’s awake. 

And,

It’s _Geralt’s_ \- Geralt’s _blood_ that hits Jaskier _first_ ,

Sweet and _sharp_ , acrid and _burning_ , sunlight over snow, rain across parched earth,

And he’s shifting in their bed as Geralt’s low burr of, “ _easy_ ,” rolls down his spine,

Is _salivating_ as the Witcher’s blood _soaks_ through all his senses, as it sends _gooseflesh_ down his arms, across the insides of his thighs, up the flat plain of his belly, and Jaskier rolls onto his side as the candles on the nightstand flicker to _life_ of their own accord,

As;

 _“Geralt,”_ he breathes, and _his Witcher_ \- Geralt looks _horrible_ , has shadows carved under his golden eyes, nestled in the hollows of his cheeks, is _pale_ and _wan_ , exhaustion clinging to _every_ line of his countenance, 

And he _reeks_ of road and _ruin_ beneath the blood, of clove and _vanilla_ , of smoke and _flame_ , of bruises and _weariness_ , and his armor is _cold_ to the touch when Jaskier grips Geralt’s vambrace as the Witcher cups his chin in one ungloved hand,

But as Geralt gazes down at him, Jaskier watches his _exhaustion_ churn into _relief_ ,

And when Geralt kisses him, it’s with such _gentleness_ it breaks his heart, a little,

And Jaskier shifts upright as his Witcher utters a strained, _aching_ , “little lark,” against his lips,

And _it’s been_ -

Gods,

It’s been _three fucking weeks,_

And Jaskier would've been _with_ him,

 _Should've_ fucking _been with him,_

But Geralt had _looked_ at him before he left, 

Looked at him with _those_ _fucking_ _eyes_ ,

Had kissed Jaskier's hand, had kissed up his arm, across his shoulder, over the thrum of his pulse,

Had breathed, " _please_ , Jaskier," against his lips, just like he breathes, " _little lark_ ," now, _and_ ,

Jaskier had _stayed_ , had _stayed_ in Kaer Morhen at Geralt's bidding, stayed _safe_ and _whole_ behind its thick, crumbling walls as Geralt rode out _alone_ , two blades and Jaskier at his back,

And Geralt smells like _blood_ and his armor is _cold_ to the touch but Jaskier doesn't fucking care, _can't_ , not when Geralt kisses him like he doesn't deserve to, like he's _terrified_ Jaskier is about to shove him _away_ , come to some _sense_ that made _none_ , 

So Jaskier, bare and sleep-warm, clambers over Geralt's thighs _despite_ the way he _reeks_ of _road_ and _ruin_ , despite the way his armor holds a _chill_ like a _grudge_ , because Geralt's kissing him like he's waiting for Jaskier to come to some _sense_ that _makes none,_

Because Jaskier's chest is _aching_ like it's been shot through by a _dozen fucking arrows_ and -

"It's so fucking _empty_ here," Jaskier says fiercely as Geralt slides his hands up over the curve of the fledgling vampire's ass, as he chases the heat of his spine with a touch that's as tentative as his kiss, "when you're _gone_ ," so,

"Kiss me like you _mean it_ , darling, hold _onto_ me, that's it," and,

"Don't be a dream, _please_ don't be a dream," and,

Geralt _growls_ , growls low and _fierce_ , and Jaskier's blood _burns_ from blue to _gold_ as the Witcher catches him _close_ ,

As Geralt catches his lips in a kiss that has his spine _curving_ and his thighs _trembling_ , the kind of kiss that stirs up something akin to _anger_ in Jaskier's gut, because Geralt had bid him to _stay behind_ and Jaskier had stupidly _listened_ , because the beasts Geralt went _after_ were the _worst_ sort,

The _human_ sort,

_And,_

He's been with Geralt since he was _eighteen_ and as _stupidly_ in love as he is _now_ ,

Has _seen_ the way humans react to things that they don't _understand_ , 

Has _taken_ enough wounds _defending_ Geralt from humans that _feared_ and _hated_ what they didn't understand that when Geralt had looked at him with _those fucking eyes_ and begged, " _please_ , Jaskier," 

He'd _stayed_ ,

And it's been _three fucking weeks,_

And he'd _stayed_ , all because Geralt had looked at him and begged, " _please_ , Jaskier," _but_ ,

It's _Jaskier_ who pleads _this time,_

When he utters a _tight_ , clenching, " _Geralt_ ," 

And,

" _Right_ here, little lark," Geralt breathes, and Jaskier _strains_ against the Witcher as his _possessive_ , sword-calloused hands chase fire through his skin, as those golden eyes rove over him, so _hungry_ they might as well be _starved_ , and,

Geralt touches Jaskier like it's been three _years_ instead of three _weeks_ , 

Touches Jaskier like he can't quite believe he's _allowed_ to,

Like Jaskier is about to shove him _away_ , like he's about to come to some _sense_ that makes _none_ ,

So Jaskier _hates_ him, a little, even as he drags his lips over Geralt's and rolls his hips in the bookends of his Witcher's hands - the brutal, _healing_ hands that were carved by the _Gods_ themselves _all_ to hold the shape of Jaskier between them, 

And,

"Don't hide from me," Jaskier murmurs as Geralt holds onto him like the bard is about to vanish, " _don't_ , Geralt,"

"I _won't_ , little lark,"

But,

"You are," and Jaskier winds his legs around the Witcher's waist as Geralt lowers him to the sheets, as he kisses slow and heavy over Jaskier's jaw and touches him like he can't quite believe he's _allowed_ to, "come _home_ , Geralt, come _back_ ,"

"I'm _here_ , sweet thing,"

But,

"Not yet," Jaskier whispers, and Geralt's brow furrows as he gazes down at the bardling beneath him, as he gazes at Jaskier in the way that makes him feel as if he's been pierced by a _dozen_ arrows, a _hundred_ , a _thousand_ ,

And Geralt is _here_ , he is, but _he's not_ \- he's not _home_ , just yet, 

_So,_

Jaskier lets Geralt touch him like he _can't quite believe_ he's _allowed_ to,

As he starts to pull at the straps of the Witcher's complex armor with _deft_ , clever fingers, 

_And_ ,

Geralt burrs low and _soft_ as the bard noses under his jaw, where it smells the most of him - of heady _musk_ and road-bruised _ruin_ , of _clove_ , of _vanilla_ , of the silver and steel blades nestled in a corner of their room, 

Of rich, _honeyed_ blood that _tastes_ like _spring_ ,

And Jaskier ghosts his lips over Geralt's pulse as he spreads his legs and lets out a deeply breathless, " _oh, Geralt,_ " when slick fingers slip over him, as they sink _into_ him, gently seeking out the spot that makes his head fall back and his vision go _spotty_ , as -

" _Jaskier_ ," and Geralt moans it _right_ against his ear, voice just this side of _wrecked_ ,

As Jaskier slides the Witcher's pauldrons from his war-torn shoulders, stomach _clenching_ when Geralt slides a second finger into him, down to the last knuckle, and Jaskier's chest hitches with a soft, unbidden _groan_ when the Witcher curls his fingers and strokes over that _spot_ inside him,

And the pauldrons drop, _forgotten_ , to the floor as Jaskier bites his lip and moves his slightly trembling hands to the _thick_ , leathern laces running down Geralt's ribs that hold his jerkin together; the Witcher nuzzles over his throat as Jaskier starts to fumble with the lacings, though he loses grip _entirely_ when Geralt burrs out a growling, "your _scent,_ Jaskier - I'd _forgotten_ your fucking _scent_ , I thought I was going to go _mad_ ," and,

"I _dreamt_ of you, _every fucking night,_ " and,

"Waking _without you_ beside me..." the Witcher murmurs, and his sunlit eyes are eclipsed in starved, swallowing night as he tips back, as he slides a third finger into the bard and cages him in with the sheer bulk of his body when Jaskier arches up with a whimper, fingers tangling up in those leathern laces; "without the _heat_ of you - the _smell_ of you,"

"You _sound_ half-mad," Jaskier breathes, and Geralt's nostrils flare as the bard's cock _oozes_ out a fat bead of pearly white _need_ , pearly white need that Geralt catches on a thumb,

And,

The Witcher leans back then, withdraws his fingers slow and careful as he licks Jaskier's seed from his thumb, and _Jaskier_ \- Jaskier _can't_ -

"Geralt," he manages,

And Geralt licks the bard's seed from his thumb as Jaskier curls upright, as he _holds_ that _eclipsed_ sunlit stare and slides with practiced ease back over Geralt's huge thighs as the sheer scent of the Witcher hits him in _full-fucking-force,_

As he hooks his fingers into the laces of the Witcher's breeches instead of the jerkin,

And Geralt _burrs_ \- a sound of sheer, absolute _praise -_ when his cock falls free,

 _Growls_ , when Jaskier reaches for the vial of oil on the sheets,

And,

Geralt fits his hands around Jaskier's hips, 

_As_ ,

Jaskier rises up on his knees, _and_ ,

Everything is _so_ fucking _quiet_ ,

As Geralt watches Jaskier _sink_ over him, as Jaskier breathes through the pleasure-pain of the stretch and burn of the Witcher filling him, filling him until he can feel Geralt at the back of his damn _throat_ ,

And,

Everything is _quiet_ ,

As Jaskier puts his lips to Geralt's to _steal_ the _smoke_ from his lungs, 

As he starts to pull gently at the laces of the Witcher's jerkin to free him from his _ruin_ ,

As Geralt rolls his hips to coax pleasure _higher_ and _higher_ up the ladder of Jaskier's spine,

And it's _quiet_ ,

Aside from their panting breaths, panting breaths traded between _bruised_ lips,

Aside from the way Geralt _groans_ as Jaskier peels his jerkin free, as he shoves it aside and over the edge of the bed,

Aside from the way Jaskier lets out a soft, _aching_ hymn of Geralt's name as the Witcher bears him back to the sheets, tunic hanging halfway off his war-torn shoulders, the shoulders that are _purpled_ and _bloodied_ , the shoulders that are _scarred_ and so fucking _weary_ , the shoulders that seem to hold up the weight of the entire _world_ ,

And Jaskier's breath snags on _hooks_ in his throat as he gathers Geralt's tunic away from his chest, revealing a gash at least a hand's length over the left swell of muscle - it still oozes blood, and Jaskier surges up without even thinking twice about it, laves his tongue over the shallow flesh wound,

And Geralt makes a sound as if he's been punched in the damn _gut_ , hips stuttering as he growls out a _deep_ , rolling, " _Jaskier_ ," 

As he slides an arm of iron around Jaskier's waist, hauls the fledgling vampire _impossibly_ closer, 

And Jaskier's head _spins_ as he chases the taste of Geralt's blood up to the firm column of his throat, as he curls up against the Witcher's chest and locks his ankles behind his thighs, and he can feel his eyes going _dark_ as Geralt's blood _teases_ his instinct, as it makes his fangs _ache_ , and Jaskier curls his hands into fists against Geralt's back to keep his claws at bay,

_But,_

"Don't _you_ hide from me, little lark," Geralt breathes, _and it's_ \- it's _monumentally_ unfair, using his own words against him, is monumentally unfair to be _moaning_ them right against Jaskier's ear as if the Witcher's been thinking about having those claws _gouge_ through him for _three fucking weeks_ , which -

"The _finest_ scars I bear," and _Geralt sounds_ \- Gods, he sounds _obscene_ , deep voice _dripping_ with a lust that's got Jaskier _squirming_ on his thick cock, "are the ones won _from_ and _for_ you," so,

"Don't _hide_ from me, sweet thing," and,

"The way you make me _feel_ , Jaskier, fuck," and,

"It's like I've been waiting, _all this fucking time_ , to be brought to life, all for _you_ ,"

And,

" _Fuck_ ," Jaskier manages, and the word splinters in _two_ as his canines _sharpen_ , as his palms _burn_ with new wounds when his claws descend, and Geralt burrs out a sound of praise as he pumps his hips _faster_ , fucks Jaskier _harder_ , hard enough it _shakes_ their sprawling four-poster, 

And _Jaskier_ \- Jaskier is on fucking _fire_ , because it's been _three fucking weeks_ , and something they'd been _quick_ to discover was how much more he _felt_ , now that he was - _different_ , how much more _sensitive_ he was whenever Geralt _touched_ him, whether it was his calloused hand on the nape of Jaskier's neck or his thick cock between Jaskier's thighs, 

_But it's -_

It's _only_ Geralt, as Jaskier's finding out,

 _Only_ Geralt that can make him _shudder_ with the barest whisper of fingertips over his cheekbone,

 _Only_ Geralt that can render him _speechless_ with the way he ghosts his lips over the bard's knuckles, _and_ ,

It's _only_ Geralt that can get Jaskier to _keen_ like he's fucking _dying_ when he fucks him, only _ever_ been _Geralt_ that's been able to make Jaskier _sing_ like this, all _arcing_ moans and jittery _shouts_ that _shatter_ in the air halfway from his mouth,

And Jaskier clutches at Geralt's huge, road-bruised shoulders with desperate, _clawed_ hands as the Witcher smears his lips over Jaskier's bared throat, as he pants against Jaskier's cheek and curls his _demanding_ tongue past Jaskier's parted lips, kissing the bard _breathless_ with eyes _wide_ fucking open,

Which,

" _There_ you are," Jaskier groans, because - " _there's_ my wolf, there you are," and,

"That's it, darling, _just_ like that, _right_ there," and,

"Don't _stop_ , oh, _fuck_ , Geralt, _please_ \- "

And,

" _Never_ ," and it comes out on a _slow_ , boozy _growl_ , one that Geralt paints against the side of Jaskier's throat as he makes their bed fucking _shake_ and Jaskier's head fucking _spin_ , "let go, sweet thing, you know I need to _feel_ you, need to _taste_ you," and,

" _Fuck_ , Jaskier, do that again -"

And,

Jaskier ghosts his sharpened canines just over the _thrum_ of Geralt's pulse, as,

The Witcher curls a hand around him, _which_ ,

Has Jaskier biting down on sheer _instinct_ , and,

He comes _completely_ undone as Geralt's blood flows free and unfettered over his tongue,

As Geralt slumps over him, hips stuttering, finishing shout like a _war-cry,_

And,

_Jaskier -_

Jaskier feels as if he's just swallowed down a glass of the finest wine as he pulls back from Geralt's throat, eased back by one of the Witcher's gentle hands at the nape of his neck as Geralt burrs, sounding content and beyond proud, and Jaskier drifts on that pride as Geralt slides down over him,

And he's only half-aware of Geralt licking him clean as he tries to reorient himself, as he revels in the _sweetness_ of Geralt's blood on his tongue, thick as syrup, finer than _anything_ he's ever fucking tasted before,

But just as his world begins to _settle_ , strong, scarred arms slide around him - one under his back, the other behind his knees - and Jaskier _yelps_ as Geralt gentles him up into a bridal hold and shakes it all up again,

"Oh, _Gods -_ "

"Hold onto me, little lark, you're fine,"

"And we're _moving_ , why are we - oh, that's _lovely_ , that's _so_ fucking lovely,"

And Geralt's amused grumble shakes Jaskier's well-fucked bones as they both sink into the piping hot water of a bath Jaskier doesn't recall Geralt drawing - which, _just_ \- is a mark of how fucking _gone_ he was, because he didn't even _notice_ Geralt leaving him to draw said bath _at all,_

And Jaskier lets Geralt _manhandle_ him until he's settled the way the Witcher wants him to be, cradled up against the _huge_ expanse of Geralt's wounded chest as he leans back against the side of the stone bath in the floor, and Geralt noses through Jaskier's hair as he brings handfuls of water over the bard's back, as he slides his other palm up and down along the firm line of his ribs,

"Oh, _Gods_ , look at this _mess_. I was _careless_ ," Jaskier pouts then, as he takes in the sight of the ragged bite on Geralt's throat, and the Witcher burrs when he lifts tentative fingertips to touch the edges of the already-healing wounds, "at least my - _venom_? Is that the right word?"

"A good a word as any," Geralt murmurs absently, and he's seemingly moved on from any _angst_ he carried home to Kaer Morhen in favor of getting _lost_ in the way Jaskier's cheekbone feels under his thumb, 

"It heals you," Jaskier says, watching the wounds slowly close, 

"Mhm,"

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Heals me,"

"Why?"

"I'm not the vampire," Geralt grunts blithely, "you'd have to ask Regis."

And Jaskier narrows his eyes at his Witcher as Geralt thumbs down the bridge of his nose, sunlit gaze so fucking _soft_ Jaskier's convinced it could bring about world peace if directed at the right powers that be,

" _Regis_ doesn't answer my questions either,"

"Then it's a mystery," Geralt murmurs as he kisses down the side of Jaskier's face, fingers holding the bard's chin still until he's tilting Jaskier's head so he can press a heart-wrenchingly gentle kiss to his lips, 

And Jaskier _promptly_ forgets anything that _isn't_ the way Geralt holds him or the way the Witcher's tongue slides so expertly alongside his own,

Forgets _everything else_ but the way Geralt _smells_ \- clove and vanilla, steel and silver, smoke and fire, road and ruin - and the way the Witcher's heartbeat seems to bookend each beat of his own, 

Forgets everything _but_ -

"I love you," and Jaskier says it against Geralt's lips as he twists carefully to straddle the Witcher's huge thighs, fingers finding their way into his silver hair, "I love you,"

And,

"You _terrify_ me, little lark," Geralt burrs, and he touches Jaskier like he can't quite believe he's _allowed_ to, but it's always with the edge of a man that's determined to take advantage of it for _as long as he fucking can_ , "but only when you're not by my side," 

_Which,_

"Good fucking thing for _you_ , then," Jaskier says archly as Geralt's sunlit eyes rove over his face with a _hunger_ that borders on _starvation_ , "that not even _you,_ the _great_ and _undefeated_ Geralt of Rivia _,_ were successful in _removing me_ from it,"

And Geralt's blood tastes like honeyed _wine_ , like spun _sugar_ , like _sunlight_ gleaming over cool, _fresh_ water,

But his _laughter_?

His laughter _tastes like_ -

Like a _dream_ , really.

**Author's Note:**

> songs:   
> after hours - the weeknd  
> body electric - lana del rey


End file.
